Thursday, August 8, 2013

It’s not that I really don’t remember, it’s that I assume every new individual has already gotten past it, come to terms with it, has about 16
arguments in their arsenal as to why we should or should not be using it at this
time.

So when my friend asked me for some advice on dialogue, I
wasted ten minutes trying to figure out what she was concerned about. My
personal experience is that Painful Writing either comes from not knowing
something or being too afraid of something. Until I knew what that something
was, I couldn’t really tell her why she was stumbling.

I asked her, and she couldn’t put it into words. She kept
hinting at the issue, but my brain, thinking we were on the same page despite
her being in the exact position I had also experienced for the majority of my
early career, would not guess that maybe she just wanted to use the word said
and felt like she wasn’t allowed.

The issue was finally solved when I happened to gloss
over it, mentioning something like, “When you’re using said, consider—”

She immediately jumped on it.

“I am allowed to use said?” she said. “I was told since
kindergarten not to.”

Then I remembered. Yes. That’s right. There is this
controversial issue that seems super important when first starting out that,
with time, will later be a worry completely forgotten about. I do consider what
verbs I want to use in dialogue tags still, but it has long now stop being an
issue of taking sides and just doing what I feel is right.

My friend was relieved. It seemed to lift a weight off
her shoulders. I know that feeling. I too have been victim to being concerned
about inane “rules,” even ones I didn’t agree with. We are so limited by the “you
should” “you shouldn’t” mindset that we often are looking for permission to
make choices that we logically know are good (or at least fine).

I said, “Yes, you have my permission to use said.”

She told me to shut up.

Sure, people do use it way too much. Above, I had it
twice within the same line; something I did out of satire. You’ll notice that
having them so close together can sound weird. Or you might have noticed that you did not notice. In either case, it is fairly true that when reading
any “bad fiction” the dialogue tags are the first choice to stand out.

I’m not denying that it can be hard to make tags sound
right (they are somewhat unnatural outside of the context of text and
literature). But, as most authors learn, using said is still an option. For
that matter, so is not using it.

There are a couple of easy ways to tell when either is
appropriate.

1) When it is repetitive.

We think faster than we speak, speak faster than we
write. This is the number one reason our First Book sounds unnatural. The brain
thinks differently writing than when we are saying something. Primarily, we
talk so fast that we are less likely to repeat the same word over and over.
Listen when someone is ranting and you’ll notice that, while they do echo more
often than a professional book would, it is a lot less than a bad high school
essay.

When writing, some authors will type a sentence, stop,
type another. We forget what words we used, so we will reuse them. This sounds
unnatural because, had he been at speaking speed, he would have remembered he’d
just said that and would try to use something else.

This is a long way to prove that repetition is bad,
something in which most of us already know and agree with. Or so I assume. Basically,
using said too much in the same space sounds funny.

HOWEVER…

Most occasions the repetition is more about the sentence structure
than the word choice. It is common to have dialogue consistently: “Quote,”
pronoun verb. Essentially, “Hi,” she said. “What are you doing?” he asked. “Get
the hell away from me,” she proposed.

Sometimes it’s not the issue of the term said, but that there
is no variation on the delivery. Play around with order of words and means to
convey who is speaking and how they are speaking, and then you open up the
option to use said again if so desired.

Honestly, if I was actually writing this scene, I would probably
do a mixture of both, varying in both structure and with synonyms. Toying with
diversity is the fun part, and by having a whole bunch of different options,
the author can do what he wants in a satisfying way, not needing to sacrifice
to any artificially imposed boundary.

(Actually, if I was actually writing this scene, I would probably
do no dialogue tags and then proceed to get a bunch of “Who the hell is
talking?” Because I never learn.)

2) When it is
obvious the author is trying not to use the word said.

Metareading should be avoided as much as possible. This
is where the reader stops thinking about the story and starts considering the
author’s intention and motivation. She tears from her willing suspension of disbelief
and is completely brought from the world back to reality.

Because using said or not using said is talked about so
much, readers pay more attention to it. Not only that, but they will relate to
an author trying not to use it. This
is not a good thing. If the reader thinks she can make it, she’s not going to
buy it. So when someone notices that the author is making an effort to not use
the word, she won’t be impressed.

If the only reason behind a choice is to not be said, it will read like that. The
said synonym needs to have multiple purposes to sound natural, i.e. there is a cause
for the narrator to be saying it other than, “I just said said.” It should
indicate a facial expression or tone that adds to the dialogue, but doesn’t
abruptly subtract to what is already implied. Especially when the reader is
picturing something better.

3) When it draws attention to verb and the
importance is the pronoun.

In most circumstances, the reason why a tag is there is
to tell who is talking. Now before you say duh, there are some moments in which
it is there to tell how it is being
said. It’s just less common.

Tone is important, and text doesn’t have any. It can be
influenced and indicated, the reader being led to imagine how it should be
heard, but without vocal inflection and body language, it often can be misconstrued.
We can give a few details, but we don’t have enough time to go through
everything that’s significant.

Often there is flexibility.

“How are you doing?” can be said in many different ways,
but the reader will pretty much get the point unless there is something unusual
about it.

“How are you doing?”
he spat.

is a very different image then the assumed

“How are you doing?”
he said.

If, however, there are subtle moods and context being
played, or if it’s a joke, or if there’s a specific rhythm, or if there is a
large spectrum on tonal options, or if there is a specific personality that
needs to be conveyed, the author will add a tag not because is unclear who is
talking, but because the readers’ natural assumptions need to be contradicted
or unified.

“Get away from me,”
he said flatly.

tells a different attitude and intensity than

“Get away from me,”
he hissed.

The first would solicit a separate reaction than the
second, and, if the audience isn’t on the same page as the author, they might
not feel like the responses are rational. In the first, where he is not as
upset as much as put out, he can probably be talked down pretty easily. In the
second, it would be harder to get him to listen. If the audience is picturing A
and the reader is picturing B, the scene might not be cohesive.

That being said, this isn’t usually the case. Most casual
dialogue will come out on track, following indicated moods and open for various
tones. In these circumstances, noticeable verbs sound really strange.

Abnormality draws attention, attention indicates
importance, putting importance on verbs is unusual. It happens every day, but is
still less common than inflection on prepositions and nouns, or, primarily,
negatives and positives. So when the important part of the tag is who is talking and it looks like the
author wants us to notice how he is
talking, it can feel unnatural; subconsciously he would chose a blending word
if he didn’t want to have attention drawn to it. Because he chose a colorful
word, it seems as if it is important
for it to be that word. If the significance is beneficial to the author and not
the story, the reader will unfortunately come to that conclusion.

So situations like,

Jim walked in.
Susie immediately clapped her laptop shut.

“Hi!” she
squeaked. “What are you doing here?”

are sensible. The point behind the dialogue is to show
she is nervous, so how she said it is
what the reader should be paying attention to. But places in which the author
only wants to tell which character is saying what,

“Does your mother
know you’re out here, little boy?” Tommy queried.

“Nah. I just saw
his mother last night!” Fred teased.

“Don’t bring my mother into this!” Grant ejaculated.

can sound really, really off.

4) When we want
support or influence.

Tied in with the rest of my points is the concept of
influential verbs versus supportive verbs, and how what we want to use depends
on the rest of the scene.

If we think of writing like driving, influential words
would be the gas or the break, whereas supportive verbs would be coasting.

A supportive verb is a word free from preexisting
connotation. It has no innate judgment or description attached to it. Words
like “said,” “walk,” “sleep,” and anything you might find in a Dick and Jane book are supportive words.
They can be done in any way a human can think to do something. An influential
verb is the opposite. It tends to mean something specific, and can’t be paired
with just any adjective.

We can walk cautiously or casually, but it’s hard to
picture someone ambling gingerly.

Supportive words don’t add anything to the scene; they
support what is already there. This means that if a voice, style, or atmosphere
has been created, it won’t be brought to a screeching halt by “said.” But it
also won’t keep up the tone for long. The story will start to lose its ambiance
if there aren’t enough influential words pushing on the gas.

Essentially, the right influential word can create a
fantastic tone, but it’s not all that uncommon for authors to be hitting the
break when they meant to hit accelerate. Using the wrong influential word can
destroy what has already been built.

Therefore, said is a great tool to use when there isn’t
an appropriate influential word to take its place. As long as the tone is
conveyed through action and the actual dialogue, there isn’t a problem. When
the author has used supportive word after supportive word in the bulk of the
text, however, he will find he hasn’t gone anywhere. You can’t coast without
gaining speed first.

5) Whenever the
hell you want.

I think the “because I don’t want to” is a viable argument.
Great books come from passion, opinions, and personality. People who try to
remove their own personal tastes from their writing will create something with no taste.

In the long run, a person is allowed to decide whether or
not he wants to shoot himself in the foot, but more to the point, it’s up to
him to decide if he’s shooting
himself in the foot. From personal experience, sitting around trying to trust
other people’s differing opinions is hard, and to some extent, impossible.
Sometimes we just have to make our own opinion and have faith in it.

The writer is his own master and he gets to decide if he
likes the way something sounds. Of course, he needs to try and be unbiased, to
focus on his goals and the best tactics to achieve them, and not to be a member
of the “I meant to do that” party. But, because he’s the only one who has to
face the ramifications of his choices, and because writing is so subjective,
and because there’s so much bad advice out there, we can’t disregard our own
personal preference.

And, in reality, the problem isn’t that an author is
wrong about his opinions, it’s that he might not have any. Which is to say, we
sometimes don’t know if we like it
better with or without said. That’s where the biggest headaches come from:
uncertainty.

The best advice for knowing when and when not to use said
is to consider how we personally feel about it. Remember that you’re creating a
style that you want to be known for, a book you want to be proud of, and
influencing literature in a way you want it to be influenced. So check out
other writers and see who you like and don’t like, and if dialogue tags
contribute to that opinion. Consider your goals, the story, the atmosphere, the
characters, and how said does or does not support them.

But, remember, when all is said and done, it’s really
just about, “Did I want to use said?”
If the answer is yes, then it doesn’t matter what other people think. If the answer
is no, then it also doesn’t matter what other people think. If the answer is “I
don’t know,” then it’s time to figure it out. Until an author knows what he wants to do, he can’t know if it’s the right thing to do.

Saturday, August 3, 2013

This week while teaching
theatrical summer camp, I asked a group of fifth graders if they knew what an
objective was.

The answer I received: “A person, place, or thing.”

To which I responded: “Close.”

Then: “No, actually. Not really
close at all. But good effort.”

As a student, I never understood the phrase, “Every
character should want something, even if it is just a glass of water.” This
seemed like one of those arbitrary rules that teachers forced on us because it
was easier for them if we just obeyed and did extra work. Being a lazy actor,
writer, student, person, I was always looking how to best be efficient (i.e.
cut corners) and so I wasn’t about to commit to something that seemed
bureaucratic and inane.

And to be fair, I wasn’t entirely wrong. Teachers can make their students go
the extra mile by asking them to do things they never even considered doing
themselves. Some of these activities are only theoretical—an idea the professor
came up with while driving to work. They haven’t been tested, and there really
is the possibility for them to be useless or even, on some occasions,
detrimental.

Since, however, I have passed from being Head-Up-My-Ass Teen
to Brown Nosing Adult, I have finally come to understand some past advice I
never expected to really get.

First is that many exercises are problem-solving tools to
be used contextually, not universal rules only meant for the obscure, crappy
amateur.

When I first started drawing, I looked at the faces with
little Ts sketched across them, and I remember thinking, “You expect me to
believe the experts do that every time?”

And they don’t. And so I didn’t. And I didn’t, and I didn’t,
and I refused and was stubborn until I started making a weekly web comic about two years ago, in which the exercise’s point was delivered to
me through necessity. The reality is that there are times when I struggle
drawing well, whether it be because of position or mood, and in those times I
pull out the Ts.

Or I lose them. I consistently switch back and forth
because sometimes the exercise is exactly what I need to keep moving ahead, but
sometimes it may screw me over, making creations far worse than what freehand
would do. It just depends on the context, and I use my understanding of that to
overcome problems that I might otherwise only be able to tiptoe around.

This evolution of thought process is not just mine; I
recognize it in my students. A few weeks ago I couldn’t stop laughing when a young
girl reminded me of this in the most honest manner possible.

I was sitting, trying to write my fourth story in A Year of Writing, and I was completely unable to find any sort of idea to
inspire me. So I do what I do in these situations and I started to outline, to
plot out, to mull around themes and conflicts until I came up with something
that excited me. As the students ran about for their free play, one came up to
me and sat down to see what I was doing. Not understanding immediately, she
asked. I explained. She blinked and said, “Do you do that every time?”

And I laughed.

“No,” I said. “I really don’t.”

I’m always surprised by the
kids’ surprise at how I operate. I try to write whenever I can, and I’ve had
several students express alarm that I am “writing outside of school,” “doing
homework during lunchtime,” and, God forbid, “outlining.” They would never do that, but, after years and
years, it has become an assumed part of my life. I forget that I was once of the
Never Doing That Party, and that not everyone understands why someone would
want to tackle things in that manner.

When I was young, I didn’t get
the Gray Area of context, and this meant that I couldn’t decipher advice passed
my immediate interpretation. It was either wrong or right, period. No matter
how many times someone repeated (parroted) the “everyone should want something,”
advice, I didn’t understand it. They just kept saying it, didn’t bother to
explain it, and I’m not entirely sure most of my teachers even could explain it. So I heard it once, decided
it was wrong, and no matter how many different people said it again, it had
already been denounced; nothing could change that.

It wasn’t until years after
having had it told to me that I finally figured it out—by reinventing the
wheel. I came to a separate theory on my own before finally linking it to what
I have been told over and over again. Suddenly, I got it. I knew how I got
there, and so understood why it was true. Not only did I finally get what was
important about objectives, but I learned to recognize why I didn’t get it
before.

The issue? I believed that
they wanted me to add an objective.
The reality is that I needed to find
it.

A character always wants
something, even if she’s not actively seeking it, even if it’s being
overshadowed by what the author wants. The problem is not that the writer needs
to jam in an artificial desire, but to sift through a crap-encased muddle until
he understands why the character said or did what she did. There’s a reason why
the writer put the words he chose. The question is what that reason was and why
it felt false. We don’t think about objectives in real life—few consider what
motivated them to do what they did—but our subconscious will always have its
reasons in any case. So no matter how bad the dialogue, false the action, or
seemingly irrelevant the information, the objective was there; it’s just a
question of if it’s important to the story, suitable to the situation, or all
that interesting.

Instead of telling me that a
character should want something, even if it’s just a glass of water, (which is
clever if not that clear), had my teachers put it in their own words and mixed
it up a little (and had I gotten my head out of my ass) I would have been led to
understand instead of having it placed in front of me with the belief that I should
just get it or have faith. I was 12-22, an age where not only was head in
assery an unexceptional feat, but where I was being lied to (or simplified to)
constantly and didn’t have enough information to understand when or where. For
that matter, I still don’t. I couldn’t commit to every “clever” idea being
thrown at me, and I had (have) no way of telling what was bull or just over my
head. It’s a lot like abstract art in that manner.

I too tell my kids everyone wants
something. But then I say, “even if it’s just to make the teacher shut up
already and go back to playing games.” Suddenly, they seem to get it.